thin ice

The Violet Hour: you can't go back.

".......One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They stopped here and turned toward each other. Now it was a cool night with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes of the year. The quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the darkness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of the cornere of his eyes Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees- he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder.
His heart beat faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.
Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something-an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man's, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever. "

(Francis Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby)

à rebours

Gisèle de verre

moonchild (including the dream and the illusion)

"O Rebecca, Rebecca, for shame! How can you-how dare you have such wicked, revengeful thoughts?"

Arlecchino Emperor In The Moon

"Trovando un punto di contatto tra la sua malattia e l'eterna insoddisfazione per gli esseri e le cose, non intendo dire che la malattia ne fosse l'origine. Le malattie del corpo non causano mai le malattie del carattere, ma il corpo e il carattere sono così strettamente legati da condividere la stessa sventura." (Marcel Proust, Pittori- Watteau).

Watteau

"Così nella sua opera l'amore è malinconico, e ugualmente il piacere. Si è detto che Watteau ha dipinto per primo l'amore moderno, e con questo probabilmente si è inteso dire un amore in cui la conversazione, la passeggiata, la tristezza del travestimento, dell'acqua e dell'ora che scorrono, prevalgono sul piacere stesso, in una sorta di impotenza ornata." (Marcel Proust, Pittori).